London for Londoners
I asked one of the ladies at work: Would you call yourself a Londoner?
Seems innocent enough, while we were deciding whether or not to pick up an extra tuna sandwhich for the house meeting that day. After all, she has been living here for over 12 years. Not only that, but she's had kids born here too. Oh Gosh, No. Came the reply. Funny, that. I never thought about it that way. She continued. I've been here long enough. But they're different, 'Londoners'. That's funny too.. I called them 'they'.
Its not so hard to think that in a city of 8.5 Million (in the Greater London Urban Area), where 31% of foreign born residents/users might not consider this their home. After all, you could argue that London isn't for Londoners at all really. In that it doesn't appear to lend itself wholly to its 69% of home growns. But that is a story for another day.
Back to the tuna sandwhiches. So, I found it funny that she referred to all other people around her as Londoners. Like everyone else was a Londoner and that she was the only one that wasn't..? I told her I understood, and for a moment there I too, referred to everyone around us as Londoners. I'm just as foreign as the next guy. Literally.
I got home that day thinking about the things that she had said and her reasons for why she could not think of herself as a Londoner. I decided to ask Kyle his opinion. He's been in London for just as long as I have, I suppose the only difference being in that he's part of the 69%.
Nope. No luck. He wasn't a Londoner either. Okay, Lincolnshire Boy? What? with tractors and flat caps? Hell no. Spaldinger? Spaldingite? Spaldingian? Yeah, I guess... but not really. I'd call myself British. Hm. Thanks for the concise answer, love! Mind you we had an afternoon deliberating what was 'remarkable' architecture, so a man of concise answers he is not. So I asked him a better one: out of all the places we've been, where did you find yourself the most 'at home'? And before its asked, it wasn't one of those roundabout questions that really mean 'Honey, where shall we settle down and own a farm and a goat?' I'm far too grown up for such sillyness.
So on with my quest..
But after going round in circles again I decided to answer my own question. Brunei, of course couldn't count, because of obvious reasons. Singapore, where we lived for almost a year felt very much like home. Despite our desperate lack of home cooking, our flat had a bit of old school charm to it, especially after our painting antics. Still, perhaps because most of our friends weren't Singaporean.. while we were really pretending to live the glamourous life of Singaporean expats on interns wages, fitting into the community never really registered. I guess the only place I began to feel well and truely at home in a place that wasn't home, was in Hikkadua, Sri Lanka. Sounds strange, considering how different the place is to Bandar/Brunei. The streets were crowded, I couldn't speak the language, I was working on a construction site - something I hadn't dreamt of doing in Brunei and of course the fact that we were living in a hotel. In fact, perhaps the only similarities to Brunei on the surface were the scorching heat, the good use of the English language and the lovely stretches of empty beach. On the surface, they both have huge differences. However, I guess the things that make me feel at home have little to do with surface, like how things look, smell, feel and taste. I can probably pinpoint the time when I felt most at home, because it was during the walk to work.
aha! K says. YOU make me feel at home. He excalaims as though he'd solved the mystery of it all. That doesn't count, I say. Although the thought is rather sweet. Having said that, since he's gone home for the weekend, I've barely ventured out of my flat, let alone my street. I guess a part of being at home is also being with the people/person there to help you mind that farm and that pesky goat. xxw
Seems innocent enough, while we were deciding whether or not to pick up an extra tuna sandwhich for the house meeting that day. After all, she has been living here for over 12 years. Not only that, but she's had kids born here too. Oh Gosh, No. Came the reply. Funny, that. I never thought about it that way. She continued. I've been here long enough. But they're different, 'Londoners'. That's funny too.. I called them 'they'.
Its not so hard to think that in a city of 8.5 Million (in the Greater London Urban Area), where 31% of foreign born residents/users might not consider this their home. After all, you could argue that London isn't for Londoners at all really. In that it doesn't appear to lend itself wholly to its 69% of home growns. But that is a story for another day.
Back to the tuna sandwhiches. So, I found it funny that she referred to all other people around her as Londoners. Like everyone else was a Londoner and that she was the only one that wasn't..? I told her I understood, and for a moment there I too, referred to everyone around us as Londoners. I'm just as foreign as the next guy. Literally.
I got home that day thinking about the things that she had said and her reasons for why she could not think of herself as a Londoner. I decided to ask Kyle his opinion. He's been in London for just as long as I have, I suppose the only difference being in that he's part of the 69%.
Nope. No luck. He wasn't a Londoner either. Okay, Lincolnshire Boy? What? with tractors and flat caps? Hell no. Spaldinger? Spaldingite? Spaldingian? Yeah, I guess... but not really. I'd call myself British. Hm. Thanks for the concise answer, love! Mind you we had an afternoon deliberating what was 'remarkable' architecture, so a man of concise answers he is not. So I asked him a better one: out of all the places we've been, where did you find yourself the most 'at home'? And before its asked, it wasn't one of those roundabout questions that really mean 'Honey, where shall we settle down and own a farm and a goat?' I'm far too grown up for such sillyness.
So on with my quest..
But after going round in circles again I decided to answer my own question. Brunei, of course couldn't count, because of obvious reasons. Singapore, where we lived for almost a year felt very much like home. Despite our desperate lack of home cooking, our flat had a bit of old school charm to it, especially after our painting antics. Still, perhaps because most of our friends weren't Singaporean.. while we were really pretending to live the glamourous life of Singaporean expats on interns wages, fitting into the community never really registered. I guess the only place I began to feel well and truely at home in a place that wasn't home, was in Hikkadua, Sri Lanka. Sounds strange, considering how different the place is to Bandar/Brunei. The streets were crowded, I couldn't speak the language, I was working on a construction site - something I hadn't dreamt of doing in Brunei and of course the fact that we were living in a hotel. In fact, perhaps the only similarities to Brunei on the surface were the scorching heat, the good use of the English language and the lovely stretches of empty beach. On the surface, they both have huge differences. However, I guess the things that make me feel at home have little to do with surface, like how things look, smell, feel and taste. I can probably pinpoint the time when I felt most at home, because it was during the walk to work.
We pass the girl's school who are waving and hello-ing to K as I allow him to walk ahead of me just so I can see the smiles on their faces. Stop at the shop to buy cigarettes and water, greeted with the usual good morning from the shop owner in his white vest and sarong. I wipe my grubby work boots off at the door but he tells me not to worry - we'll be back with dirtier feet at lunchtime. We get a smile hello from the ladies in the tailoring shop next door as we turn into the shortcut lane next to the police station. The railway tracks are old and the sun is already beating off them while I watch my feet stepping over the sleepers. We past the small-green-bungalow and the lady of the house is (as usual) sweeping just outside her door- she flashes me a smile and a nod. A few meters down we pass Ravi's house just before the bridge. He's on his balcony and shouts good morning! to us - we'll probably see him after work anyway..You can't get much more a feeling of being at home than that I would say. Not to say I'm going to start calling myself a SriLankan now, but it certainly felt like I was one.
aha! K says. YOU make me feel at home. He excalaims as though he'd solved the mystery of it all. That doesn't count, I say. Although the thought is rather sweet. Having said that, since he's gone home for the weekend, I've barely ventured out of my flat, let alone my street. I guess a part of being at home is also being with the people/person there to help you mind that farm and that pesky goat. xxw
posted by Widarchitect at 12:21 am
1 Comments:
Inda tah kau malu tu? org yg tinggal sana lama lama lagi inda mau mengakun ia org london. thats cause they know how crap it is to be a londoner. face it you are bruneian. ive only lived in brunei, probably half the time you have, i cant speak the language, i hardly have any friends that live there cause im rarely back, but its still home.
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